Regal Kosher Restaurant
& Delecatessen
181 Middle Street, Portland, ME
Who's hungry?
That's the first question every Jewish grandmother asks, isn't it? Before she asks how you're doing, whether you're warm enough, or if you've met anyone nice.
And if you lived in Portland a hundred years ago, there was one place where that question always had a delicious answer. The Regal Kosher Restaurant and Delicatessen.
You see that old photograph of the storefront on Middle Street? Don't let the black-and-white picture fool you. In my mind, it's bursting with color. The windows are steamed up from giant pots of soup. Someone's opening the front door every thirty seconds. There's laughter coming from the back room, and somewhere a waiter is calling out another order before the coffee has even finished brewing. It wasn't just a restaurant. It was everybody's dining room.
Now remember, many Jewish families in Portland lived in small apartments. Kitchens were tiny. Money was often tight. But once in a while, maybe after shopping on Middle Street or before heading home for the evening, families would stop at a place like the Regal.
You didn't go there because you were in a hurry. You went there because you wanted to sit. To eat. To talk. To argue a little. Because if there's one thing Jews have always known, it's that the best conversations happen over food.
Can I prove they served matzo ball soup? No. But if they called themselves a kosher restaurant, I'd be willing to bet my best kugel there was a pot of golden broth simmering somewhere in the kitchen.
Maybe there was brisket. Maybe stuffed cabbage. Maybe corned beef piled so high you had to press the bread together just to take the first bite. And of course there were pickles. There are always pickles. You know who else probably came through those doors? Traveling salesmen looking for a kosher meal. Young couples out on a Sunday afternoon. New immigrants missing the tastes of home. A rabbi grabbing lunch between visits. Children hoping someone would leave just one bite of dessert. Nobody ever left hungry. That would have been a shanda!
Back then, Portland's Jewish neighborhood stretched through India Street and the surrounding blocks. Within just a few minutes' walk, you could stop at Zulofsky's Bakery for challah, visit the kosher butcher, shop at Zeitman's Grocery, pray at synagogue, and then settle into a booth at the Regal for a hot meal.
Everything you needed to live a full Jewish life was right there in the neighborhood. And here's what I love most about places like the Regal. They welcomed everyone. Maybe one table held businessmen discussing the price of wool. Another had mothers comparing recipes. A group of teenagers sat in the corner, convinced nobody noticed them giggling. An elderly man lingered over a cup of tea because he knew someone he knew would eventually walk through the door.
Nobody had to eat alone unless they wanted to. That's what a Jewish deli does. It feeds your stomach. But it also feeds your soul.
Today, the Regal is gone, just like so many neighborhood delicatessens across America. The building has changed, the neighborhood has changed, and most people walking along Middle Street have no idea that a kosher restaurant once welcomed generations of Portland Jews through its doors.
But every time I see that old photograph, I don't see an empty storefront. I hear the clatter of dishes. I smell fresh rye bread. I hear someone calling across the room, 'Come, sit! We saved you a seat.' Because that's what the Regal really served. Yes, there was good food. But even more importantly... It served community.
And believe me, bubbeleh—that's the most nourishing meal of all.
